


Fluffy

by fluffyspy



Series: Naegiri Week 2018 [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17049500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyspy/pseuds/fluffyspy
Summary: Kyoko Kirigiri is given many good reasons to skip work, so she does. Makoto Naegi has fewer reasons, but he joins her anyways.





	Fluffy

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of Naegiri week 2018! The prompt was "fluffy" so I responded, naturally, with some pointless cuddly fluff. I made myself very sleepy writing this, which hopefully is a sign that I did a good job setting the mood and not that my writing is just that boring.

The life of a private detective often invited unusual hours, a fact that was not news to Kyoko Kirigiri. As a student, she’d often taken days off of school unannounced because she simply had to go interrogate a suspect before they were released from custody, or investigate a murder scene for clues before the blood dried. Her grades were never at risk, and even if they had been, it wasn’t as if she was wanting for career options post-graduation. She also may have had a slight resentment for school faculty—especially headmasters, and it was always the headmaster that called to ask why she’d been missing for two and a half weeks--not that she’d ever admit it.

            Things had changed only slightly now that she _was_ school faculty. Technically she should be at the office right now, but she had been searching the old Tokyo subway tunnels all night before finally finding the missing perpetrator of a recent poisoning and now that the case was solved, she wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and catch up on all the hours of sleep she’d lost while pursuing it.

            So that was what she was doing.

            Sighing, she dug herself further into the woolen comforter. Now that she was in the comfort of her bed, she found herself less preoccupied with sleeping and more with simply warming herself up. The subway system, still under reconstruction, hadn’t been climate-controlled in years and even her warmest winter ensemble hadn’t succeeded in fighting off the chill. Now she huddled under four layers of blankets, legs tucked under her to retain heat. Makoto, damn him, had felt too responsible to skip headmaster duty with her despite the fact that he’d been right beside her through most of the investigation. At least he hadn’t been present through last night’s subway exploration, though that was only because she’d had to remind him that he didn’t know any self-defense and would only be a burden to her if the fugitive proved violent. Still, his absence now meant she got the comfort of his usual pillow as well as her own.

            It was while she considered putting forth the effort to get up and put socks on—somehow, miraculously, her feet were _still_ cold—that she felt a weight fall across her. Raising her eyebrows, she poked her head up from under the covers to see her husband, still dressed in the tacky woolly sweater he’d worn out that morning, dramatically draped over her. He was sprawled over the lump she’d made of herself on the bed, face pressed into the mattress. Her right hand left the shelter of the blankets to ruffle his hair and he groaned.

“Kyoko, it’s so cold…”

She glanced at her phone on the bedside table. “I thought school was still in session.”

He made some attempt to reorient himself on the bed, wrapping himself around the bundle of blankets that housed Kyoko. “It is. Togami has it covered.”

Kyoko freed her other arm and started rewrapping the blankets around both of them even as she argued with him. “Togami will complain.”

“Togami always complains.”

He did have a point there. Now that they were both cocooned under the covers, he wrapped his arms around her pajama-clad form. Kyoko was pleasantly surprised to find that the material of his sweater was less itchy and more enjoyably fuzzy. She scooched down so she could rest her cheek against his chest, the soft wool tickling her skin. He felt warm; perhaps she understood now why he insisted on wearing that ugly sweater. Always showing her the upsides of hideous circumstances, that was her Makoto.

“I don’t have an alarm set,” Kyoko admitted.

His face was buried in her hair. Perhaps it wasn’t as warm as his sweater, but at least _it_ was fashionable. “Good,” he said.


End file.
